


I Wish I Could Tell You

by TossMe_A_Pen



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon compliant until S1 E5, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I guess it's sort of a slowburn but it's a shortish fic?, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Alternating, no beta we die like men, there has to be some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TossMe_A_Pen/pseuds/TossMe_A_Pen
Summary: Jaskier doesn't make a habit out of thinking. He is most definitely not thinking when the truly beautiful but nonetheless terrifying Yennefer of Vengerberg demands his final wish. Of course, like any reasonable bard, he wishes for love. Specifically Geralt's.Geralt is oblivious and Jaskier doesn't talk about what happened because really, where would be the fun in that?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 256





	1. Decisions, Decisions: All of Them Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. 
> 
> This fic idea came to me almost immediately as I watched episode 5. As soon as Yennefer asked for Jaskier's wish, my only thoughts pertained to the phrase 'what if?'. It's a shortish fic but dragging it out any longer would probably stretch it to the point of disinterest. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and if possible, comments would be greatly appreciated!

Jaskier didn’t always think about much.

Really, he tended not to think at all. He preferred to just act, consequences be damned. It was often rather helpful – it meant that he generally lived his life carefree – but there were a good number of times where he wished that he’d paused to well, think first. Of course, his mistake with the djinn aside, Jaskier was very much in a regrettable situation, and consequently, he found himself wishing that he had indeed thought before he’d opened his mouth, if only he had another wish left.

He cursed his godforsaken tongue, running amok. The witch, whoever she was and whatever had happened the night before, had asked him for his last wish. In his panic, he’d blurted out what any sensible bard would say: he’d wished for Geralt of Rivia to reciprocate his feelings. His undignified squeak of ‘oh shit’ was all that Jaskier had been able to offer after he’d revealed his deepest desire to a psychopathic witch. At least he’d had the good sense to run when the chance presented itself.

Now he stared through a broken window, watching as the man he’d just wished for panted against the lips of the woman who’d just scared him senseless. He was dragged away before things escalated further than they already had. He sat on the floor near to roach, plucking on the strings of his lute. He looked as glum as the elf sitting next to him. Evidently, they both felt like they were missing out. Jaskier sighed, placing his lute on the ground next to him, carefully as he could. He held his chin between cupped palms and waited for the Witcher to return.

When Geralt finally returned to Jaskier and his beloved horse, he seemed a little less relaxed than usual, not that he ever really seemed relaxed in the first place. Jaskier assumed that, whatever that witch had been doing, it most likely wasn’t anything that Geralt was used to.

“Ah Geralt,” Jaskier welcomed him with a sarcastic drawl, “how nice of you to grace us with your presence. Us being Roach and I; I’m quite certain that the elf will be pleased to be rid of you.”

Geralt grunted but didn’t say another word.

“Mm, articulate as always my friend.”

The witch, to her credit, smirked at his display. She turned to Geralt, otherwise ignoring Jaskier’s antics.

“I don’t often say this, Geralt of Rivia, but thank you.” She pressed a light kiss against the Witcher’s cheek, the only token left to reminisce the passion they’d shared. Geralt only nodded curtly. The witch smiled as she stepped away, raising an eyebrow in the bard’s direction. Jaskier held onto his lute a little tighter.

“Yennefer, if there is anything we can do—”

“Uh, uh,” the witch or _Yennefer_ , silenced Geralt mid-sentence with a finger to his lips, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s better to walk this world alone.” She tilted her head to the side, coyly. “Besides, I believe you’ll be kept busy enough on your own.” She nodded pointedly towards Jaskier before turning on her heel to walk away. “Enjoy your bard Geralt of Rivia,” she called behind her.

Geralt’s shoulders stiffened and his jaw tightened considerably. He watched Yennefer go, her black skirts sweeping around her ankles.

“Well, that was an interesting experience which I would care never to visit again.” Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, staring up at the collapsed building nearby.

“Hmm.” Was the recognition he received.

“Tell me honestly though Geralt,” Jaskier followed after the Witcher as he strolled towards where Roach was still waiting patiently, “do you really not like my singing?” Geralt turned his head to glare at Jaskier who raised his hands in defence. “What? I was just asking!”

Geralt sighed as he mounted his horse. “Remember where that question got us last time.”

Jaskier held up a finger and was about to retaliate.

“Shut up Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s mouth closed as quickly as it opened. “I didn’t even say anything!” Geralt tossed him a knowing look before setting Roach off at a trot. Jaskier scowled but, slinging his lute over one shoulder, followed all the same.

* * *

Geralt rode ahead of Jaskier. The bard was babbling but the Witcher had his own thoughts to listen to. Usually, his mind was so clear, everything straightforward. Today, however, it was anything but. Something about what Yennefer had said bothered him. They’d tumbled through the portal she’d conjured with about as much grace as a windmill in a hurricane, but it was not his wounded pride that seemed to be stalking him. She’d said something odd. About Jaskier. Geralt glanced back at the man in question who was currently slipping off his shoe, grimacing as sand from the road poured out. Geralt rolled his eyes.

The witch was beautiful, Geralt could not deny that, and he’d been more than happy to fall under her spell. Only, after they’d broken apart, drenched in sweat and breathless, Yennefer had started to laugh. Even Geralt knew that was not a good sign. Yennefer had trailed her fingers through his hair, still smiling as she did so. She’d told him that his bard would be very much impressed by the same treatment. Geralt accepted her words as a strange sort of compliment but why she’d spoken of Jaskier…it was unnecessary.

Even when he’d offered to help her, she’d refused, mentioning Jaskier once more. Geralt frowned. Perhaps she’d heard his music.

“Geralt,” speak of the devil, “how much further?”

Geralt grunted. He could hear Jaskier hurrying to catch up with Roach.

“It’s just,” the bard was saying as he joined Geralt’s side, panting slightly, “you’ve got a horse and I, well, I’ve got a pair of boots that really were not manufactured for this sort of terrain.” He scoffed, readjusting the strap of his lute. “Or this much walking for that matter.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier huffed, jutting out his lower lip. “Go with the Witcher Jaskier, great plan, you’ll get all the girls Jaskier, you’ll be rich!” he muttered to himself, kicking at the dust. Geralt’s lips quirked into a small smile.

“I’ll tell you one thing Geralt,” Jaskier warned, pointing an accusatory finger, “I’d better be given some of the coin I earn you at the next tavern. Consider it as compensation, for the frankly dreadful ordeal I’ve just been through. Plus, for what I was forced to witness. Trust me. Whilst I was exuberant to see that you were still alive I most definitely did not want to see—" he trailed off, swallowing. He gestured to Geralt, waving his hand up and down as if the Witcher were an artefact prepared for auction.

Geralt raised a solitary eyebrow. “All of that could have been avoided.”

Jaskier stopped short. “Is this, are you still, err, talking about the djinn, thing?” he asked.

Geralt only shrugged. Jaskier threw up his hands. “Oh, yeah, right Geralt. It was all my fault wasn’t it?”

“Glad we’ve come to an agreement.”

Jaskier stared. He ran to keep up with Geralt once again. “You’re forgetting, it was you who went after it in the first place, you who went back for that, really sexy witch, I mean phew, and—”

Geralt smiled to himself even as he ignored Jaskier, allowing him to ramble. Perhaps Yennefer was right to leave them to their travels, she would never have been able to put up with Jaskier’s mouth.

*

It was odd. Geralt just couldn’t seem to push Jaskier from his mind. Yennefer’s words echoed in his mind – _enjoy your bard_. Of course, he was only concerned because Jaskier almost lost his life. Of course, that was the only reason. As irritating as he may be, Jaskier had helped Geralt’s reputation to flourish. It’d be a shame to lose a chance to help collect coin.

Jaskier sang loudly as ever, his recent ordeal, as he called it, seemed not to have had too much of an impact. Though, Geralt supposed, there really wasn’t much that would be able to dull Jaskier’s ability to use his voice.

Geralt stared into his drink. He never usually listened to Jaskier’s singing but somehow, it was almost comforting tonight. Purely because Jaskier had been close to losing more than just his vocal talents.

He sighed. Geralt hoped that he’d be able to sleep soon, he wasn’t quite certain as to what was keeping him awake so persistently. Maybe Jaskier had been right; maybe his dealings with the law of surprise was indeed beginning to get to him. He wondered if he’d sleep better if Jaskier was near him. The bard always seemed so peaceful when he slept – not that Geralt had been watching – and really, it’d be nice to share that kind of peace with somebody. Anybody. Jaskier was just the more practical option.

Geralt watched as Jaskier finished his song, bowing as he grinned at the women surrounding him, tossing a wink in Geralt’s direction instead of a coin. Geralt quickly looked away, avoiding Jaskier’s gaze once more, as he had been for some time. He told himself that it was nothing, but something in the fact that Jaskier might actually enjoy his company rather than just stick around for coin, excited him. He wasn’t particularly used to being liked.

Jaskier lifted his lute from over his shoulder so that he held it in one hand by its neck. He grinned, walking over to where Geralt was seated, eyes dark and unwelcoming as ever.

Jaskier exhaled deeply as he took his seat opposite Geralt, resting the back of his head on his hands.

“I’d say that was one of my best performances yet.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier frowned, leaning forwards, elbows on the table. “What?” he asked. Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” Jaskier repeated.

“What are you talking about?” Geralt wasn’t one for games. Jaskier should know that by now.

Jaskier shrugged. “You tell me,” he said. Geralt huffed an annoyed breath.

“Come now,” Jaskier leant back against his chair. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since we left the witch, surely…you’re not missing her?”

Geralt scowled, looking away. Jaskier narrowed his eyes.

“No, no, you’re right, you wouldn’t even miss me, and I’m me – but you’ve been avoiding my gaze all afternoon,” he paused, eyes widening in realisation, “did she say something about me? Is that what this is about?”

“Hmm.”

“So, it is about me! Oh, don’t look like that, I know you well enough to know that—” Jaskier stopped talking when he noticed the glower he was receiving, “come on Geralt, what is it,” Jaskier whined, “what did she say?” he elongated the vowel sound, lying sideways across the table.

Geralt rolled his eyes but felt his ears grow warm. Was it getting hotter in there?

“Geralt, I deserve to know…”

“You don’t need to know shit Jaskier.” Jaskier sat up straight, his expression indignant. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it.

“You know,” he said eventually, “you can be exceptionally cruel. Anyone ever told you that?”

A small smile. “They may have mentioned it a few times.”

“Yeah well, remind me never to compose a song for you. Oh, wait!” Jaskier jumped to his feet, slamming his hands against the edge of the table, “I already did.” He threw Geralt an annoyed smile and strolled towards the bar in search of a drink, arms wrapping around the shoulders of a nearby maiden.

Geralt couldn’t quite prevent his grin, but he was close.

* * *

Jaskier would’ve followed either of the women attached to his hip upstairs to a free room in a heartbeat, let alone both at the same time, and yet, he found that he lacked the desire to do so. They teased his fancy by pressing against his side, brushing their lips along his jaw, but he found that he somehow didn’t want things to escalate any further. Which was just…wrong.

It was mostly because of the worry eating away at the edges of his mind. Geralt had been acting differently towards him than usual and now that it looked likely that Yennefer had said something about him, Jaskier’s levels of anxiety were only climbing. If she’d told Geralt about his wish— he shuddered. One of the girls perched upon his knee giggled, interpreting his movement as one of pleasure.

If the Witcher knew about what Jaskier had wished, it’d all be over. Geralt would surely tell him to leave. Jaskier leant his head back and groaned. He’d never exhibited an awful lot of self-control in the past, but he’d promised himself that he’d ignore whatever feelings arose if he travelled with the Witcher. He hadn’t seemed interested upon their first meeting and Jaskier had seen no reason to pursue a man who historically had the emotional capacity of his own sword.

Now, because of his panic, he’d set everything entirely off-kilter. He was beginning to understand why nobody ever wanted him around. Perhaps he was more trouble than he was worth. He sighed. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to achieve anything by pleasing his current audience. He excused himself as best he could, which was a little difficult even by his standards and made his way back over to where Geralt was sitting.

He sat down with a deflating sigh.

“Nothing for you?”

Jaskier shook his head. _Not thanks to you, you fucking emotionless rock._

Geralt sniffed.

“Suppose I should say thank you,” Jaskier said as glumly as he felt.

“For what?”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “Saving my voice.”

“And your life.”

Jaskier waved his hand dismissively. “Not as important.”

“Hmm.”

“But really, thank you. Much as I know how much you’d miss my beautiful way with words, I do recognise that it might have been slightly, out, of your way.” He separated the last few words with a flick of his wrist.

Geralt stared at Jaskier for a long moment. Jaskier blinked, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“I’d never get to sleep again if I didn’t save you.”

“P, pardon?”

Geralt stood to his feet abruptly, features stony. “Get some rest,” was all he said and left Jaskier in his seat, gaping. Geralt had actually admitted he felt something. He’d admitted that it would bother him if Jaskier lost his life. Come to think of it, that really should be a given in a friendship, but to Jaskier, it really was something rather extraordinary.

The wish. It had to be the wish he made. He’d wished for Geralt to love him. Oh God’s. He’d put his delicate foot in it this time. What had he been thinking? Well, there it was again, he hadn’t been. No. Hold on, why was he worried about this? This could be just the thing that Jaskier needed. Since when did people usually manage to convince someone as romantically devoid as Geralt to love them? This could be perfect. If only he knew whether he was right or not. If it all went wrong…well, he’d never been one to think about what his actions could lead to.

Whatever happened, it was clear for now that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep. Still, it wasn’t the first time he’d lost hours over Geralt of Rivia. He turned around to search for the women from before. He may as well find an appropriate distraction.


	2. You Never Should Ever Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I'm meeting my schedule! I should be able to post every Wednesday so it's looking good! Hope you enjoy!

Jaskier trailed behind Geralt, fiddling with the strap of his lute. He tugged at the edges of his collar – it was awfully hot. He almost regretted wearing so many layers. Almost. A little discomfort was worth a good taste in fashion. Geralt had the good sense to sling his own jacket over Roach’s saddle, exposing the loose grey shirt beneath. Jaskier stared at the toned muscles visible even through the fabric.

He grimaced to himself as the pace of his heart began to quicken. Geralt may be incredibly attractive but Jaskier hated the fact that he couldn’t seem to expel him from his mind. The man didn’t even have style. His appearance never strayed far from clad in black leather, covered in blood, dirty, sweaty, muscles straining, hair wild and—

“Jaskier.”

Fuck. Jaskier would’ve walked straight into Geralt if it weren’t for his hand slamming into his chest. He hadn’t been paying attention to the correct thing. Again. His cheeks flushed and he stared down at his feet, attempting to think of an appropriate quip. His eyes fell to Geralt’s fingers, splayed across his chest. His heart skipped, too flustered to retain a regular rhythm.

Geralt would’ve been able to feel that. He didn’t even need his mutant super senses to have noticed that. He meant to slowly look up into Geralt’s amber eyes, he really did, but his gaze slipped to the Witcher’s lips. Oh, mother of— Jaskier swallowed tightly. Geralt’s tongue slid across his lower lip as he stared back at Jaskier with an equal display of hunger. He leant forwards slightly and Jaskier’s breath caught beneath his tongue.

“Geralt,” he whispered. Geralt blinked, pulled back, sucked out of whatever trance he’d been under. He grunted, allowing his hand to drop back to his side.

He cleared his throat, turning away from Jaskier. “We’ll camp here.”

Jaskier’s stomach plummeted and he gulped. Somehow he was able to grab the last fraying edges of his unravelling composure. “Why, uh why here?”

“There’s a river nearby.”

Jaskier stared. “How could you possibly know that—right, yeah,” he waved his hands above his head, “Witcher powers.”

Geralt grunted, turning his back to Jaskier to secure Roach to a nearby tree. Jaskier felt a pressure lift from his shoulders and he exhaled deeply. Well, there was no doubt about it now; something was going on. Now that he’d felt the brush of Geralt’s warm breath against his lips, well, he’d be damned if he never felt it again. The whole thing was delicately simple – a story from one of his ballads. He’d have to be careful to pluck the right strings of this song lest the tune drag away into darkness.

He grinned to himself. Convince a Witcher of his love for you? What could go wrong?

Apparently, rather a lot could go wrong. Geralt was increasingly disagreeable the longer the evening went on and had taken to avoiding Jaskier altogether once again. He spent most of his time tending to Roach and the rest of it by the river – wherever that happened to be.

Jaskier poked a stick into the dying embers of the campfire, watching as sparks burst into the cold air only to dive back down and disintegrate into nothing. He heaved a sigh, staring up at the stars. Somewhere out there, the djinn was floating above him, wreaking havoc wherever it touched. Jaskier supposed that it was only fair that perhaps, just maybe, the thing had brought something wonderful instead.

It was a slim possibility but Jaskier clung to it just as he clung to his precious instrument.

* * *

When Geralt finally returned, his hair was wet and cleaner than before. Water dropped over his brow and trickled over his nose. Jaskier didn’t look up as he approached. Geralt had lost control of himself for a moment, which wasn’t supposed to ever happen, not to him. It had been a long few days and he yearned to scratch memories of Yennefer from his mind. Since there was nothing resembling a whorehouse in the middle of the woods, Jaskier had suddenly seemed a viable option.

Geralt had felt the skip of the bard’s heartbeat beneath his palm, heard the sharp intake of breath. It would enough to entice anybody needing something. Geralt really couldn’t blame himself. He’d pulled back at the sound of his name on Jaskier’s lips. He’d been called to his senses. Jaskier’s heartbeat hadn’t meant a thing and he’d been foolish to lose his control. He was thankful that Jaskier had the sense to stop him before things escalated.

Geralt didn’t allow himself to feel disappointed.

He took a seat next to Jaskier, sighing as he did so. Jaskier acknowledged him with a sideways glance.

“The fire’s out,” Geralt said, noticing the barely glowing ash on the floor before him. Jaskier only shrugged.

“They say that embers often make for a better ballad than flames.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Not for keeping yourself warm.”

“Embers are sorrowful and intimate,” Jaskier continued, ignoring him, “they falter, yet still burn with a dangerous warmth.” His blue eyes glinted as he turned to face Geralt. “They remind me a little of yourself actually.”

Geralt grunted.

“But I suppose you’re right,” Jaskier sighed, poking at the fire, “it does seem to be frightfully cold.” A small smile played across his lips. “Why don’t you move a little closer?”

Geralt lifted his head just a little, barely a reaction.

“Shared body heat and all that.”

Geralt didn’t say a word. As a Witcher, he had a wider understanding of the world and the creatures who dwelled within it. He was more in tune with his own senses and body than most ever hoped to be. Yet, his heart stirred just a little. Most would never have noticed, but Geralt did. It quickened. It shouldn’t have, but his heartbeat quickened.

Jaskier had always affected him in ways he couldn’t understand, ever since they’d first met. Though he tried hard to ignore how his body reacted, he needed Jaskier beside him and whenever their hands brushed, a spark shot over his fingers.

He told himself that it was nothing, they were just friends, but part of him wondered if it wasn’t.

“Geralt?” He shook himself, snapping to attention. “Something on your mind? It’s just I’ve, uh, noticed that you’re not quite as talkative as usual – never thought I’d hear myself say _that_ – and I’ve been meaning to ask, have, have I done something wrong?”

Geralt glared at the dwindling fire before him.

“Geralt?”

“No.”

Jaskier blinked. “No? Pardon?”

“No, you haven’t done anything wrong Jaskier,” Geralt huffed, beginning to feel irritated.

“Right, yes. Good.” Jaskier winced a little.

They sat in silence. Jaskier prodding at the ashes of the campfire and Geralt glaring into the thicket around them, trying his utmost to convince himself that he hadn’t felt excited by Jaskier’s offer to move closer.

* * *

Jaskier was finding it difficult to sleep. If his wish was coming true, Geralt was supposed to love him. For now, at least, it seemed as if he was fighting it, with his every being at that. Jaskier supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised. Geralt never seemed overly synced with his emotions so why should he just accept those towards a man, and one who he couldn’t even accept as a friend.

As a bard, Jaskier had a certain way with words. It’s how he always managed to talk himself under the sheets of a noble stranger, despite the fact that he didn’t have much in the way of money himself. He was a lover and he would always be one. He fell in love far too easily, hiding how he felt beneath a string of barely constructed quips. With Geralt, things were no different, besides the fact that he told himself he was not in love, not quite, just attracted to the danger that surrounded Geralt’s every movement.

He sighed deeply, shifting on his bedroll. Surely it shouldn’t be this difficult for him to fall asleep. He was a Witcher’s bard for Melitele’s sake, not a twelve-year-old boy. If he were perfectly honest with himself, he should’ve stopped travelling with Geralt as soon as he’d felt something more than just carnal desire blossoming in his gut. Though he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It wasn’t just Geralt that he stayed for, however, despite what others might speculate. He wanted the adventure, the excitement – he was a brilliant coward, he knew that much and he certainly wouldn’t deny it – but a part of him ached for the adrenaline surging through his veins whenever he was faced with an especially malicious beast. Geralt was just half of an alarmingly poignant picture.

Jaskier’s breath was beginning to level and his eyelids were fluttering gently shut when he felt Geralt’s fingers brush over his ribs. He jolted slightly, his eyelids flying open. He felt Geralt recoil and he cursed his surprised reaction. He pressed his eyelids shut and forced his breathing to quieten, praying that Geralt wouldn’t be able to hear the change in pace. He felt Geralt’s breath against his cheek as the Witcher leant over him, most likely checking to see if Jaskier was asleep or not. Jaskier attempted to relax his features, ignoring the pounding blood in his ears. Eventually, he heard a light grunt of satisfaction and Geralt reclaimed his horizontal position nearby.

Jaskier was just beginning to calm, though he wasn’t quite certain as to the reason why his heartbeat had picked up quite so much as it did, when his breath hitched once more as Geralt wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s waist, hugging him close to his chest. Jaskier struggled to maintain his façade of feigned sleep. Perhaps he could’ve passed it off as just an unconscious need for physical contact on Geralt’s part, but he’d been awake, attentive. It had to have been purposeful. Everything Geralt did had a purpose, so why then, did this seem to be lacking one so completely.

*

When he awoke, Jaskier realised that he was cold. There was a chill in the wind and it ruffled the sleeves of the shirt he’d slept in. Geralt was no longer beside him. He sat upright with a jolt, his hand clenching the bedroll beside him. Geralt’s name died along his lips and dread spun a greasy coil deep within his belly.

What if Geralt had left him? It wasn’t the first time that Jaskier had entertained the possibility that Geralt would prefer to be without his company but he still felt a sudden panic whenever that particular outcome appeared at all likely.

“Are you going to sit around all day?” Geralt’s rough voice boomed through the thicket. Jaskier felt his muscles relax and a grin spread over his features. Jaskier’s relief flooded his reason.

“Only if you’ll be around to keep me company.” A grunt was all the response he received.

Jaskier felt a little ridiculous, feeling so anxious over something that didn’t even happen, but Geralt didn’t need him. Not really. He’d made it clear already that he’d rather work alone. He could barely recognise Jaskier as a friend and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel expendable.

He bit back a sigh and began to pack away his bedroll, finding enough optimism to whistle as he went.

*

The next tavern they were able to stop by proved to be an altogether interesting experience.

Jaskier was a little troubled, a fact which became increasingly apparent as the night flew by. His fingers fumbled with the strings of his lute, though he recovered himself well, and he found that his attention was directed towards the Witcher in the far corner, instead of the nobles seated nearby.

Still, he was somehow able to rake in a sufficient amount of coin – or at least enough to last for a few rounds. He laid down his lute, stooping down to collect the last remaining stray coins dropped over the floor near to the bar. Every little helped.

“You play beautifully,” a brittle, wavering voice called to him as a light grip was pressed gently to his shoulder.

He looked up to find two women hovering by his sides. He flashed them what he hoped was an easy, irresistible smile, which was probably closer to a grimace.

“Why thank you,” he said with his usual flourish, “I have a certain special performance available for those worthy of a ballad themselves.” He winked and the girls giggled playfully. Flirtation came so naturally to Jaskier that he barely had to think at all.

“And might we be worthy of your songs?” asked the girl with long blonde curls.

Jaskier’s smile faltered slightly when he glanced towards Geralt near the back. He shook himself. He should be able to enjoy himself without pondering his friend’s affections. He forced a smirk across his teeth.

“I should very much like to find out.” One of the girls laughed heartily, pressing herself to his side. He grinned as the other brushed her lips against his neck. Ah yes, perhaps a night without Geralt might be just what Jaskier needed.

He fell back against a nearby chair, ignoring the looks he was gaining, wrapping one arm around each of the girl’s waist. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. No, he needn’t think about Geralt now, he could wait. For now, he might as well allow himself to at least divulge in a small amount of pleasure, he deserved as much—

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes blinked open.

There was Geralt, tall and muscular as always, standing before him with his fists clenched against his sides.

“G…Geralt?”

“Here is not the place for this Jaskier.” Jaskier looked around him, following the Witcher’s glare. They were indeed attracting rather a lot of attention, something Geralt definitely did not require more of.

He was inclined to open his mouth to defend himself but Geralt beat him to it.

“It isn’t the time either.” Geralt’s amber eyes were tunnelling into Jaskier’s own. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“We, uh, we do?” Jaskier was sceptical. Geralt swallowed tightly and was that a, was that a blush creeping over his pale cheeks?

Geralt cleared his throat. “Yes,” he grunted rather convincingly, “you should get to bed.”

Jaskier scoffed, indignant, “it’s barely dark outside!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. Ok, Jaskier admitted to himself, it was close to midnight, but he’d stayed up well past into the night before now: what was so different?

“I’d say it’s you that needs a nap,” Jaskier grumbled, “you’re the one who’s grouchy.” He looked to each of the girls beside him, both staring at Geralt too intently for it not to be induced by fear. “Anyway, Geralt, I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself whilst you’re gone—”

“Jaskier, I don’t want to come down and find that you’ve been fucking the wrong man’s daughter.” Jaskier’s mouth hung open, his cheeks flushing red.

“I…uh…” for once he wasn’t sure what to say, “Geralt you really should—”

“Bed, Jaskier.”

Jaskier lifted his chin higher, embarrassment curling into irritation. “Yes sir,” he said drily, throwing a lazy salute.

He excused himself reluctantly from the girls, his breeches feeling slightly tighter than he’d find comfortable. He struggled to catch up with Geralt who was already stalking away.

“Geralt,” he started calmly, “might I just ask, only if it’s not too much trouble of course, and really you don’t have to answer at all but,” _deep breath Jaskier, use those singer’s lungs,_ “what, the hell, was that?” He pointed behind him as they reached the stairs.

Geralt shrugged.

Jaskier gaped. “No, Geralt,” he puffed out his chest and placed his hands on his hips, “you are not just going to walk away without an explanation—”

“You said I didn’t have to answer you.”

Jaskier’s eyes grew wider than he thought possible.

“What is going on with you?”

Geralt didn’t turn around. “Nothing.”

“Well, that’s obviously just not the truth. There’s clearly something the matter and as your friend—”

“You’re not my friend.”

“Will you stop interrupting me?” Geralt spun around halfway up the staircase. Jaskier was breathing heavily, his anger swallowing his hurt. “I was just asking you what was wrong.” His features softened and instinctively, he reached his hand out.

Geralt caught his wrist before he could make contact. He stared at him with cat-like integrity. “Go to bed Jaskier,” he growled, “your room’s ready.”

Jaskier watched him go.

Eventually, as they were sleeping in separate rooms, Jaskier did manage to regain one of the girls from before. The other had already left. Even though her breasts were round, her face young and smooth, he couldn’t find the capacity within him to deliver much of anything.

* * *

Geralt had been too cold, far too cold, and though Jaskier’s wish was looking more and more likely to have come true, he shivered all the same.

Geralt stormed up to his room. He’d booked two tonight. There was an animalistic aggression boiling in his gut. He couldn’t understand why he felt such fury but when he’d looked over at the two girls, hanging onto Jaskier’s arm, something in him had burst free.

He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but inadvertently, he must’ve been. He searched desperately for something to justify his actions. He’d been protecting Jaskier – that was all, certainly no more and no less. He’d been concerned about the intentions of the two women and of course, he’d always try to protect those he cared for.

Did he care for Jaskier?

No. No more than he cared for the witch, Yennefer. He wondered to himself – why was it that he never thought of her? He’d saved her life and she’d repaid him most rewardingly, but he never thought about her, only her words, only what she said about Jaskier.

Did he care for Jaskier?

Perhaps. In the way that a bee cares for a dandelion; the bee needs the flower just as much as the flower needs the bee, but the bee can fly to the next flower, even if the stems all break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but I just had to include jealous Geralt. I apologise if this chapter was a little messy - it makes sense in my head but you never know.


	3. An Impulse So Impulsive That it Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! I've decided to go ahead and post two chapters today because I'm at that point and I just feel like it. Plus, chapter 3 feels pretty short so here you go. Hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

“I need you.”

Jaskier was moaning about a job he’d somehow been able to score. Geralt pursed his lips.

“Mmm, I’m sure you’d be dead by now if it weren’t for my help.” He couldn’t help but grin a little.

Jaskier pouted but rolled his eyes, attempting to explain himself. “Well I don’t mean in general, I suppose I do, but I require your assistance for a specific matter.”

Geralt squinted through the trees ahead of them, sniffing the air. He was certain something didn’t seem right about the path they were heading down, and his fingers danced, poised and alert by his sides. Though his unease could have been due to the heavy rift between he and Jaskier

There was still tension in the air between them from the night before but Jaskier had a rather fine way of his whereupon he would pretend to forget anything that came between them. Geralt preferred it that way. He didn’t know what he’d say if they spoke about what had happened.

“Uh, Geralt?” Jaskier gingerly stepped over a particularly high arching log. “Hello? I was asking you a favour?”

Geralt snorted when the bard almost tripped over.

“Now that’s not fair; after all I’ve done for you.”

Jaskier’s footsteps ceased and Geralt was forced to turn around with a curious frown. He found Jaskier standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted slightly to the side. The sunlight bouncing through the trees shimmered over his features and highlighted the soft roundness of his cheeks. Not for the first time, Geralt was reminded how Jaskier was able to drag a plethora of different lovers into bed despite his grievances with numerous members of court. Geralt’s features relaxed into what could have resembled a smile.

“What?” Jaskier demanded, “is there something wrong with my hair?” he started smoothing his hands over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. Geralt shook his head, grinning, turning back around. “Well, at least my hair isn’t…” Jaskier paused, using his bard’s instincts to search for the perfect word, “white!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Impressive poetry bard,” he grunted.

Jaskier scowled. Geralt could hear him running to catch up again.

“Look Geralt,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his hands, “whatever was going on last night,” at Geralt’s flinch, he held up his hands, “I won’t ask!” He swallowed. “But you owe me one.”

Geralt threw a glare that might have been intimidating to someone who hadn’t rubbed camomile lotion all over Geralt’s frankly incredible arse.

“You do, and even if you won’t admit it, I’ll know.” Jaskier shrugged, winking lazily.

Geralt grunted in defeat and Jaskier’s lips perked up into a smile that brightened up his entire face.

“What is it that you want?” Geralt asked, eyes narrowed in resignation.

“Ah, right, well, I mentioned the job I’ve been asked to do, yes?”

A nod. “Maybe a few times.”

“It’s uh, well, it happens to be, I wasn’t entirely certain at first, but I know now that it happens to be, most certainly, a courtly ball?” Jaskier bit his lower lip, jumping backwards when Geralt spun around.

“And why is a Witcher’s presence needed?” Geralt knew full well that Jaskier needed him for protection but he was determined to make the bard spit it out, especially after what’d happened at the last event Jaskier had dragged him to.

“I uh, I may have, I may have well—”

“Fucked the wrong woman?”

Jaskier nodded. “Several?” he squeaked.

Geralt nodded, rolling his eyes, and stalking off ahead again.

“So, you’ll come? With me?” Jaskier called.

Geralt stopped, staring ahead of him. He nodded. “Yes.”

Jaskier grinned, rushing forwards again with a skip in his step. Before he could say another word of thanks, Geralt interrupted.

“I’m coming for you, not with you,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to clarify but he knew he didn’t want to see Jaskier’s reaction. He quickened his step.

* * *

Jaskier wore a dark blue doublet, woven with a gold-coloured thread. The puffed sleeves were striped, and his maroon shirt was tucked down the middle with as much flair possible from a tucked-in shirt.

He told himself that it wasn’t to impress Geralt but really, who’s leg was he pulling? No one at court would be analysing the clothing of a bard. Except for, hopefully, Geralt.

He stood to one side of the ballroom as Geralt stood in the corner and wore the expression of a man who’d just had his dog kicked in by a group of bandits. Jaskier tried, well he really didn’t, to avoid staring in Geralt’s direction but he’d been unsuccessful for the most part of the evening and he doubted that his ability to do so would improve.

He’d convinced the Witcher to take off his leather outer garments again, this time stating that it would at least allow him to seem as if he was making a slight amount of effort. Geralt had grumbled but had eventually agreed, which was why he was dressed in an incredibly dark green, loose-fitting shirt as opposed to his usual attire. The only issue was, Geralt looked incredible – not that Jaskier disliked a spot of tight leather, oh no, it was just almost thrilling to have the Witcher out of his comfort zone, wearing clothing that was more suited to dining than decapitating.

Jaskier sighed. Whatever was going on with Geralt, he hoped that it’d pass. He dared not think about his wish. It was too painful. He frowned as he noticed the three men marching towards him. Oh Gods, not this again.

He backed away only to find himself pressed against a pillar. He looked helplessly around him but Geralt was nowhere to be seen.

“Bollocks,” he whispered under his breath as the first of the men reached him. He flashed what he hoped was an innocent smile. “Ah! Hello! What can I, uh, do for you all? Here to request a song perhaps?” His eyes darted about him for an escape route.

“Oh, no bard; you know full well why I’m here.” The man leered at Jaskier, who shrank away from his toothy sneer.

“Do I?” he squeaked.

The man nodded, chuckling as the other two joined his side. “Does he?” he asked them, “Yes I really think he does.”

“You seduced my wife.” Another man cut in.

“Mmm, and fucked mine the same.” His collar was grabbed and yanked forwards so that his toes were scrambling to meet the floor. Where the fuck was Geralt? “What do you say we find out whose sheets you’ve been shoving yourself between?”

“I, um, I really don’t think that’s necessary—”

“It can’t have been him.” Four heads whipped around. Geralt. Thank Melitele. Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. Whatever excuse Geralt came up with this time, it was better than being beaten by three noblemen, trained in combat.

“And why’s that Witcher?” They spat the word ‘Witcher’ and Jaskier felt anger curl within him.

“When did you say he fucked your wives?”

The men looked between them.

“Early last year.”

“Around six months ago.”

Geralt shot Jaskier a disapproving glower who shrugged apologetically in response.

“Hmm,” Geralt murmured, “then I’d say you were mistaken.” The men frowned, clearly in want of an explanation. Geralt placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, pulling him protectively to his side as the other man released his grip on his collar. “He’s with me,” Geralt said, “he has been for some time.”

“With?” Jaskier’s attackers exchanged glances. Jaskier was staring at Geralt as if he might shatter if he so much as breathed. “As in…” the man trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

Geralt nodded. The men scowled, clearly displeased, but began to back away slowly.

“An apology would be nice!” Jaskier called after them.

“Scum like you don’t deserve apologies.”

Jaskier shrugged. He’d slept with enough men to know that many were not open to his lifestyle. He chose to ignore the fact that he’d bedded their wives.

He turned to Geralt brightly. “Well,” he said as a fellow bard took centre stage, picking up a lively tune, “that was certainly one way to save my neck, rather successful might I add; we should use that one more often.”

“Dance with me.” Geralt blurted.

“Pardon?” Jaskier was beginning to wonder if Geralt was quite well.

“They’ll be watching us, this has to look genuine.” He swallowed, offering a hand. “Dance with me.”

Jaskier gaped, gazing at Geralt’s outstretched fingertips. How long had he yearned for this very proposition? Was he dreaming?

“Geralt, I can’t, I have to play after—”

“Just until it’s your turn to sing.” If Jaskier didn’t know him better, he might even say that Geralt sounded desperate. “I’m not rescuing you again,” Geralt added gruffly.

Jaskier shrugged bemusedly. “Can you even actually dance?” he asked.

“I can try.” Geralt replied, staring directly into Jaskier’s blue eyes, unblinking.

Jaskier rolled his shoulders back, sucking in a deep breath. “Ok,” he said more to himself than Geralt, “Ok.” He licked his lips, placing his own hand firmly in Geralt’s. “Show me your moves.”

At first, Geralt’s movements were jerky, unsure. They danced slightly too far apart, with Geralt watching his footing through the gap. He wasn’t awful – he was nimble on his feet, a Witcher had to be – but he danced as if he were sparring, too quick, dodging his partner’s elegant twirls.

Jaskier’s heart was beating far too quickly for Geralt not to notice so he was almost relieved at the distance between them. He could feel eyes fixed on his back and heat rose above his collar. People would ask for Geralt’s services even less if suspicions arose about the two of them. He took it upon himself to begin to squirm free. Geralt’s fingers closed around his wrists, preventing his escape.

He leant in close, his lips brushing the lobe of Jaskier’s ear.

“Jaskier, relax,” he whispered, “they’re not going to believe this if you look like I’ve shoved a damn sword to your throat.” Geralt’s breath tingled against Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier found himself unable to respond, warmth pooling to his breeches. Instinctively, he moved to scramble away, hands slipping away from Geralt’s waist. “Dammit Jaskier,” Geralt hissed, “I know this is difficult for you but I’m trying to protect you – do I look like the kind of man who dances to you?”

Jaskier paused. Geralt thought this was difficult for him? He thought he didn’t want to dance with him? He almost snorted; boy, had the infamous Butcher of Blaviken read this situation wrong.

Still with a certain air of hesitancy, Jaskier began to edge closer. They pressed their chests against each other, Jaskier’s heart hammering. Geralt wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him closer.

“Geralt—” Jaskier started but their hips were already joined.

Geralt frowned as Jaskier pressed against him. He’d meant to pull Jaskier close but not this close. His eyes widened.

“Jaskier…,” he growled, verging on panic. This time, it was Geralt who attempted to retract his grasp. Jaskier shook his head, the damage already done.

“Geralt don’t,” he ordered, then with a coy smile, hiding his discomfort, ”if you don’t relax, this won’t work, remember?” He nuzzled his nose into the crook of Geralt’s neck, partly to conceal his palpable blush.

Geralt avoided eye-contact, preferring to look anywhere that wasn’t Jaskier. They swayed together, in time to the now soft music performed by the other bard. Jaskier twirled through the process, his blue eyes grazing the chiselled features of his partner.

As a suitable distraction, Jaskier did the only thing viable to him at that time: he spoke.

“You know for a Witcher,” he said as he drew close to Geralt once again, “you’re really not that awful at dancing.”

Geralt grunted.

“I’d even go as far as to say good – no place your foot there not…that’s it – I suppose the sword fighting they teach you,” he made a gesture with his free hand, “must’ve come in handy.”

Geralt nodded, thoughtful. “There’s a simplicity in complex swordsmanship,” he murmured, “in that way it could be compared to a dance.” Jaskier almost sighed but caught himself just before he released his contented breath. Coming from Geralt, what he’d just heard was pretty much the most elaborate poetry.

“It takes two to tango,” Jaskier grinned.

“It takes two to parry,” Geralt returned.

Jaskier shrugged. “Do you know what else is common between the two – fencing and dancing I mean?” Geralt shook his head slightly, “emotion, expression and above all;” Jaskier’s eyes twinkled, “the right partner.”

He drew himself even closer to Geralt so that their breath sang in unison. Jaskier knew he could have chosen better words, plucked a less colloquial phrase from the proverbial cauldron but he was a romantic at heart and he would be damned if he didn’t use that particular quality to its full potential.

“Hmm,” Geralt managed as he gazed down the bridge of his nose at Jaskier’s smirk. “I hope you find them.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You, my perceptive friend, are as dense as the thicket you slice your way through to make a path.” He barked a nervous laugh. “I’ve already found him.” His brow furrowed in grave longing and he reached up to brush Geralt’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m just not sure he’ll find me.”

Jaskier licked his lips, leaning upwards towards Geralt’s parted mouth. His pulse was dizzying as he grew closer, nose brushing gently against Geralt’s.

Jaskier realised where they were.

He slid away suddenly, distance once again between them. They were at court. He was a bard, employed to play, next actually. He couldn’t be with Geralt like this, like he wanted to, not here, not in front of so many nobles.

It’d hurt Geralt and his own career. He wasn’t prepared to sacrifice that just yet.

His chest ached at the sight of Geralt standing there in front of him, arms still held out in embrace, utterly bereft and unblinking.

“Jaskier—”

Jaskier coughed to silence him. “I’ve uh, well, I suppose it’s my turn to do my job, since you’ve been so successful with yours,” he chuckled without humour, rubbing the back of his neck, “Thank you, thank you for the, you know, the protection.” He averted his gaze down to the marble tiles beneath his feet. “I trust you’ll enjoy my fabulous renditions of folklore tonight.”

Jaskier forced a smile, bowing as confidently as he could. Geralt only nodded.

Neither of them noticed that the music had already stopped.

* * *

Geralt noticed that almost all of Jaskier’s songs included a beautiful woman or two. It was clear to Geralt that he’d overstepped. He’d made Jaskier feel uncomfortable. From the looks he was receiving, he was making other nobles uncomfortable too.

He sighed. He was used to making people feel uncomfortable, he was, after all, a Witcher, but not Jaskier. Never Jaskier. Jaskier was the only person who’d ever treated him as if he wasn’t the monster he was created to be. At first, Jaskier had seemed to enjoy their dance unexpectedly a little too much but his quick escape led Geralt to the conclusion that it was only the dangerous excitement emanating from the situation. Despite his cowardice, Geralt knew that jeopardy always had a strange effect on the bard.

He didn’t think about how the dance had made himself feel. He didn’t think about the way Jaskier’s waist felt beneath his palms, he didn’t think about his scent – dull lavender, tavern fires, forest soil and weathered spruce – he didn’t think about the way Jaskier’s blue eyes were constantly bright with something other people just couldn’t hope to see, no, he didn’t think of Jaskier at all.

He trained his eyes to where Jaskier stood singing his heart out. His gaze did not falter for the remainder of the evening, nor did his heart which was beating out of time.

When they left the ball, they didn’t talk about what had occurred. In actual fact, they didn’t talk about anything which suited Geralt just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the fake dating trope and a dance. I had to, I'm so sorry. Geralt's a little confused at the moment - I wrote him so that he's terribly conflicted and sometimes his true feelings get the better of him. It's more fun to have lapses in control rather than constant denial (though there's a lot of that too).
> 
> Toss a coin for your thoughts? (Like, 'penny for your thoughts'? No? Nevermind.)


	4. Isn't it Messed Up? How I'm Just Dying to Be Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've probably noticed, I have a thing for song lyrics in my titles. I wrote something ages ago (gone now) where the titles were all from Led Zepplin songs. It worked with the fandom I was writing it for. Anyway, here's Chapter 4! 
> 
> Spoilers, it gets a bit angsty but you know, can't have a fic without some good old fashioned angst. Plus, Jaskier and Geralt have exactly one brain cell between them and neither of them uses it.

Jaskier wouldn’t shut up. His tongue had been working overtime for the past hour and it showed no signs of halting its course. Geralt was growing terribly close to committing a crime.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said for the thousandth time, “I wasn’t going to mention it, really I wasn’t, but then it struck me: if I’m to ever understand the inner workings of that massively thick skull of yours, I simply have to know.”

Geralt pressed his lips together tightly. He supposed he might as well indulge Jaskier’s ramblings. “Know what?” he growled.

“Ah-hah!” he exclaimed with a punch to the air. “See? I’m not the only one who’s curious now am I?”

“Just spit it out Jaskier.”

“Right well uh,” Jaskier swallowed, “I was just wondering, last night, that marvellous idea you had, what, uh, what exactly directed you to that plan of action?”

Murder. Murder was the crime Geralt was going to commit.

He merely grunted.

Jaskier nodded to himself, kicking dirt on the road. “Worth a try,” he muttered to himself.

Geralt stared ahead of him. The truth was, he had no idea why he’d elected to claim Jaskier as his partner that night, in every sense of the word. He’d just spoken. Without thinking. Perhaps he was catching whatever disease was causing Jaskier’s verbal diarrhoea. He’d been forced to ask Jaskier to dance (look, we all know that if he admitted something at this point his head would probably explode) in order to protect him, to authenticate his excuses, but what had driven him to suggest the notion that they were together in the first place…he hesitated a glance behind him to where Jaskier was shaking off a branch snagging on his sleeve. He released an almighty sigh and stared up at the leaves above him.

With the light shining through the canopy, tendrils shrinking down to smile against his skin, Geralt could perhaps understand why someone might be tempted to write poetry.

He frowned. Something was wrong. Jaskier. Geralt wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so quiet.

“Jaskier,” he said, forcing himself to initiate conversation. Jaskier’s head perked up.

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean?”

Jaskier cocked his head to one side. “What did I…?” he blinked. “I don’t know Geralt, what did I mean? You might just want to be a little more specific there.”

Geralt gulped. No turning back. “'The right partner.’” Geralt didn’t dare look back.

“Oh,” said Jaskier, “that.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, avoiding eye contact. “Yes well, some might say I said that so you wouldn’t blow our cover.”

Geralt nodded curtly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. It was a foolish question to ask, irrelevant.

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice was softer now. “Geralt some might say that the sky is green.” He smiled. “It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.”

Geralt frowned. Jaskier was being cryptic. He wasn’t certain if he found it more annoying or intriguing. “Hmm,” he grunted.

From behind him, Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You know, having a conversation with you is quite possibly more one-sided than a conversation with a tree trunk.” Geralt didn’t answer.

Jaskier reached up above his head, shaking an overhanging branch. “And how are you today?” he asked the tree with a mock bow. He slid to the other side dramatically. “Well I’m fine thank you how are you—?” he was about to answer himself again when Geralt interrupted:

“Jaskier I get the point.” A crack filled the air as the branch Jaskier was holding snapped. He yelped and jumped back, looking guiltily up into the leaves above him.

“Sorry,” he whispered. There was silence for a while before Geralt heard Jaskier sigh deeply.

“Nothing seems to excite me anymore,” Jaskier said, “nothing brings me…pleasure like it used to.” Geralt’s fingers tightened around Roach’s reins. “That’s what I meant. Before I mean.” He waved his hand flippantly. “The right partner.” He stared vacantly, his mind elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know if he should say anything – wouldn’t know what to say if he did.

“Nothing excites me except you Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “perhaps I need to find someone like you.” _Perhaps I just need you_ were the unspoken words floating between them like the smell of old parchment discarded as fuel for a premature flame.

Geralt’s knuckles were white by the time they reached the edge of the forest. Jaskier’s words shouldn’t have induced a reaction but Geralt hoped to the gods that they were true.

*

Geralt had completed a job concerning a particularly vicious kikimora and now returned to the local tavern, brow knotted together tighter than should have been possible and as always, covered in blood. He flung open the door, not pausing to grimace as it lurched violently against its hinges. Every head turned to face him. He looked around him, searching for – and there was Jaskier, waving. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and stalked over to a table at the back of the room. He ignored Jaskier’s crestfallen expression at his dismissal.

He watched as Jaskier flagged down the bartender, no doubt flattering him to a sickening degree, and pointed in his direction, flashing him a wink in the process. Geralt huffed a breath as a waiter hurried over with a flagon of ale. Jaskier really did do far too much for him. It was more than he deserved.

The kikimora had taken more out of him than he’d anticipated, and the pay hadn’t exactly been worth the effort. The townsfolk had decided to decrease his fee, he was a Witcher, a mutant freak after all, and he didn’t have the capacity left to retaliate. He wouldn’t tell Jaskier what had happened: the bard would only cause an unnecessary fuss on Geralt’s behalf.

For all Jaskier did for him, Geralt decided as he sipped his ale, the least he could do would be to properly listen to his performance. He usually drowned out Jaskier’s songs with everything else in the room, but he supposed that it was high tide that he properly repaid Jaskier, even if he wouldn’t be aware that it was happening.

He frowned as the melody swarmed his senses. It was intoxicating; Jaskier’s voice was alarmingly transcendent. For once, Geralt was drunk with things to say and yet he was too far away to make himself heard. This was not _‘Toss a Coin’_ , this was something different. He felt for sure that this song was new.

He stared at Jaskier as he strummed and it was only in that moment that Geralt realised Jaskier was staring back, blue eyes wide and just a little bit terrified. He saw Jaskier swallow as he paused to strum, debating whether to continue. Eventually, Jaskier seemed to come to a decision, forcing a lazy grin and breaking eye contact with Geralt.

The song was closing but Geralt could still hear the words as they spun an intricate web around his heart:

_When the sun stretches yawning,_

_You are not beside me,_

_You look back to find me,_

_See how I fall?_

_You see but you are blind,_

_When I start to sing,_

_You never listen,_

_Except in the dark,_

_And so, my lonely wi—_

Jaskier gulped, pausing as his eyes flew up to meet Geralt’s. He’d caught himself just before his mistake.

_–wish, just let me hold you in the light,_

_Let us begin, let me sing._

Jaskier finished with a bow, his cheeks flushed as the drunken men and women alike applauded his efforts with little more than a few coppers an alleviated scowl. Geralt felt frozen to his seat, the movement sucked from him in a cruelly vampiric format.

“So, what’d you think?” Jaskier asked, sliding into the seat opposite to Geralt. “It’s new, in case you haven’t noticed. All things considered,” he looked behind him at the other members of the tavern, “I think it went down quite agreeably.”

Geralt shifted on his stool. “Mmm,” he said.

Jaskier’s eyes glinted softly, though still with a mysterious, playful quality. “Geralt do enlighten me: how’s my singing?”

Geralt couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Jaskier’s fond smile. “It’s like ordering a pie…” he began, causing Jaskier to roll his eyes and slump over the edge of the table, “…only to find that the filling you ordered was something quite different.” Jaskier’s brows shot up.

“Look,” he said, “I know you mean well, but Geralt really, how is that in any way better to what you said before?”

Geralt leant forwards on his elbows, raising a solitary eyebrow. “Because,” he said, “the wrong filling might be better than the right one.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Right…” he said. “Though that’s quite possibly the most profound sentence your tongue has ever touched, I’m still not seeing where the compliment fits in.”

Geralt only shrugged.

They spoke for a long while, well after the sun had set behind the hills and eventually, as Jaskier’s speech was incessantly interrupted by a stream of undignified yawning, Geralt decided that they were both best off to bed.

“You booked a place?” Geralt asked.

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes. Here in fact.”

“One room or two?”

“One.”

Geralt nodded solemnly. He got up, without another word knowing that Jaskier would be able to understand. They’d shared rooms before, beds too, countless times. So, why was Geralt’s heart beginning to thud? He should be in much more control of his body. Vesemir would not be impressed with his poor performance.

They trudged up the narrow staircase, Jaskier tossing the barkeep a friendly wave as they went. The room was small, which was to be expected from a tavern inn, with a large double bed in the centre and a singular chest near the far wall. Ah. So it would be one of those nights then.

“I can sleep on the floor.” Geralt hadn’t noticed but he was standing in the open doorway, staring at the contents of the room. He wasn’t terribly good at reading people, but he was sure that he must’ve given Jaskier the impression that he was uncomfortable sharing a bed.

“No,” he grunted, stepping inside and tossing his bag over the chest.

“Are you sure Geralt? I…I really don’t mind.” Jaskier studied the crumbling floorboards. “Slept in worse places.”

Geralt shook his head. Making a fuss about it would only make the situation more awkward, which it shouldn’t be in the first place. “It’s fine.”

Jaskier nodded, his brow creased. “Good,” he said, “good. Great even.” He set about removing his doublet, throwing it onto the floor in a heap. He flung himself onto the bed whilst Geralt readied himself. He did his best to look casual, folding his arms behind his neck. He patted the space beside him eagerly.

“Come one then,” said Jaskier, “you were the one who insisted we retired so early.” Geralt scowled at him. It wasn’t that early.

He hesitated. “Maybe I should sleep on the floor.”

“Nope.” Jaskier shook his head. “No, you’re joining me. Had your chance to sleep separately before. Blew it. Come on.”

Geralt nodded slowly, gingerly climbing next to Jaskier. Perhaps he should’ve allowed Jaskier to sleep on the floor, then he wouldn’t have nerves squirming in the pit if his stomach. He made sure that he faced away from Jaskier, eyes firmly fixed upon the mouldings of the door frame.

A gentle arm slipped around his waist and his body immediately tensed. He felt Jaskier press against his back, burying his nose into Geralt’s hair. Their legs tangled together and Geralt felt himself twitch below the belt. He gripped the sheets tightly and his breath hitched. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. It was wrong. He attempted to squirm away but Jaskier hummed into his hair making his skin prickle.

“You should take a bath,” Jaskier murmured, “I’ll join you if you like.”

That was all Geralt needed to hear. He was up and on his feet in a flash, hurriedly grappling for the door handle. Jaskier stared after him, propped up on one elbow. His eyes fell to Geralt’s trousers.

“Geralt,” he breathed, licked his lips, “do you need—?”

“I’m going to the stables.”

“But—”

“I have to check on Roach.” Geralt left without another word. He didn’t need to look back to envision the expression Jaskier wore.

*

Roach hadn’t needed much attention. Geralt had made sure that he was especially thorough, however, allowing himself time to calm down. With a clear head, he realised that he felt guilty. He was unfair to Jaskier. Jaskier obviously needed some form of physical comfort and Geralt should have allowed him to have some. Besides, Geralt was finally beginning to accept that perhaps his feelings for Jaskier ran deeper than he’d ever previously anticipated.

He released a sigh and his breath swirled around him – a fragmented halo. He supposed he should apologise, but then again, he’d never been particularly good with words. He patted roach on the back as means of farewell and she swatted him away with her tail.

“Hmm,” he sighed, “I suppose I deserved that.”

The bartender didn’t look up as he entered this time, preferring to examine the insides of a glass he’d just been cleaning. Geralt rolled his eyes at the drunkards slouched over every available table and wondered silently to himself what’d be like to be mortal again.

His senses were dulled this evening. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before and the kikimora had snatched away what little energy he had left. Plus there was Jaskier’s new song to think about, when he’d been sure that Jaskier had been about to say his name, or Witcher, or whatever (it had the same effect either way).

He sighed as he made his way upstairs, careful not to make a sound in case Jaskier was already sleeping. What must Jaskier think of him? A man who is too afraid to even acknowledge him as a friend and—

Oh. Oh fuck. Fuck him, because there was Jaskier up and very much not asleep.

He was pinned against the wall, breeches pooled at his ankles, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and panting against the caress of another man. His eyes were shut and his mouth open, far too preoccupied to notice Geralt standing nearby.

Geralt gulped, frozen to the spot. He should go, leave. This was not meant for his eyes and yet, his feet were frozen into place. His mouth was dry, and his pulse hammered in his ears. Heat pooled to his stomach for the second time that night, but he didn’t seem to care.

It should be him there with Jaskier. Not some other man he happened to pick up from downstairs. An animalistic sense of ownership siphoned through his veins and his hands curled into fists by his sides.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, snapping Geralt’s attention back to him, “Gods, fuck I think, I think I’m—”

Geralt had to look away at the sound of Jaskier bucking against his temporary lover.

“Fuck Geralt,” Geralt suddenly felt dizzy, his name, that was his name on Jaskier’s lips, that was his name. “Geralt please—”

Geralt grunted, low and guttural. Jaskier’s eyes shot open.

He pushed his lover away, grappling for his breeches. He pulled them up to his waist in a sloppy, hasty motion, unable to hide just uncomfortable the fabric must’ve been against his very visible bulge.

“Geralt—” he whispered, shocked and humiliated, his cheeks brighter than the blood Geralt spilt so often with his sword.

“Go.” Geralt motioned to the other man to leave and he didn’t hesitate, scrambling without dignity out of the door. Jaskier stood helplessly in the centre of the room. He was too humiliated to pay much attention to the tent in Geralt’s own leather pants.

“Geralt I can explain—”

Geralt pushed past him, slamming the door in the process, and laid down across the bed for sleep. Jaskier looked down at himself.

“I should, I’ll uh,” he gulped, “I’ll just be a moment.” He turned to leave for the bathroom.

“Bed Jaskier,” Geralt ordered before he could reach his destination, “now.”

Jaskier nodded slowly, slipping in beside Geralt as gingerly as he could, knowing that he wouldn’t be sleeping well that night.

They slept beside each other. They did not touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the small amount of angst. But really, what did you guys expect? Hope you enjoyed and as always, comments really help - they're pretty much crack to authors - so any feedback would be, in the words of a true poet, great.
> 
> If anyone's interested, here are the first three verses of the song above:
> 
> And though the clouds are dark,  
> when the stars begin to sing,  
> I feel you listening,  
> look to the skies and let them begin,
> 
> I'll open wide my arms,  
> Play between the strings,  
> you turn your head away from me,  
> do you know what I said?
> 
> Take my hand in the shadows,  
> where no one is waiting,  
> your touch is awakening,  
> teach me to fly.
> 
> And the rest, you've already read in the fic ;)


	5. A Bard's Rendition of An Epitaph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry this update is later than expected. I have so much work to do for my courses and I'm literally drowning in English Literature essays. Anyway, here's the next instalment and to make up for my tardiness, Chapter 6 will be posted well before next Wednesday (just gotta iron out a few things first).
> 
> Enjoy :D

Jaskier fumbled with his words. He had no idea what to say. He wasn’t even sure what to think for that matter. How could he even hope to bring up what had happened the night before? He’d truly, undeniably screwed things up this time.

He’d given in once again. It’d happened a few times. His one night stands never really cared what he called them, and it was often when he was feeling at his lowest, his most alone that he needed to divulge in good old fashioned fantasy. The fact that his fantasy was solely based on his lover being Geralt shouldn’t have mattered. Geralt wasn’t supposed to have found out.

Oh, but the Witcher’s reaction had been more than interesting. He’d seemed almost entirely entranced, possessive almost. The man couldn’t even stomach allowing Jaskier to finish a decent orgasm for Melitele’s sake. What would be next? Only allowing Jaskier to look upon Geralt? No one else? This was becoming a fucking nightmare.

He was just mustering the courage to say something when Geralt paused. He held up a hand, motioning for Jaskier to do the same. He dropped down low and rolling his eyes, Jaskier followed suit.

“What is it?” he hissed, not in the mood for any more surprises. Geralt didn’t answer him but sent Roach galloping into the forest with a few patting commands. “Geralt,” Jaskier repeated, nudging Geralt’s shoulder, “what’s going on?”

“Bandits,” Geralt growled back.

“So what?” Jaskier scoffed, “you could take them any day you liked, even with one arm behind your back.”

Geralt shot Jaskier a look that probably meant something along the lines of ‘ _if you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll hand you over to them and see how you fend’_ and one that probably would’ve been petrifying if Jaskier hadn’t already seen the Witcher dance at a court ball.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s fingers closed over the bard’s wrist.

“Yeah?”

“We’re running.” He jumped up, dragging Jaskier alongside him. Hands slipped together, clasped tightly, Geralt’s mutant speed whisking Jaskier past the trees in a matter of seconds.

Geralt spun Jaskier around, skidding to a halt and shoving his back against a nearby tree. His free hand was clamped over Jaskier’s mouth, but he allowed it to drop after a while. Jaskier reckoned that he could still hear the bandits – they were definitely still close then, but probably not enough to be able to see them.

“Ow,” Jaskier complained, “you couldn’t have been a little gentler? My arse does not deserve that kind of treatment, let me tell you.” He rubbed his buttocks with one hand, exaggerating his wince. The impact of the tree trunk really had been painful. It would undoubtedly leave a bruise.

“Jaskier be quiet.” Geralt scanned the undergrowth, amber eyes flicking through the brush.

“A warning perhaps? Next time you want to shove me against a tree…” he trailed off, studying Geralt’s chiselled features, “though I’m not complaining, a warning would be nice.”

“Jaskier shut up,” Geralt growled somehow even lower than usual, “they could still hear you.”

“Oh, chills, you should speak like that more often—”

“For the last time shut up!”

“No, I’m serious Geralt, you could really—mmph!”

Geralt smashed his lips against Jaskier’s, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Jaskier shuddered against Geralt’s movements, unsure what to do with his hands. If this was his reward for talking excessively then by the Gods he would continue to do so. Eventually, he sighed into the kiss, his hands resting over Geralt’s hips. He parted his lips in a moan as his eyelids fluttered closed. Geralt’s tongue was quick to take advantage. Jaskier felt himself melt, his tongue flicking against Geralt’s, his hands now bunching his hair together.

Geralt pressed deeper, their bodies pressing tightly. Jaskier groaned against Geralt’s mouth at the friction between their hips. Never had he dared hope that Geralt would reciprocate his desires, his feelings – it was almost too much. His knees buckled but Geralt held him fast, not allowing him to slip away. Jaskier saw stars as Geralt began to rock against him, slowly to begin with, but his pace became frantic. Geralt grunted against Jaskier’s tongue and his hands trailed over the bard’s shoulders, down to his hips. Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist, gasping with each movement the pair made. He bucked against Geralt, pulling at his hair, so much that it must’ve hurt.

He strained against his breeches and felt Geralt experiencing the same reaction. He felt dizzy as he rocked, Geralt’s own grunts of pleasure escaping against his lips. Surely they weren’t being quiet now.

Jaskier moaned, flattening his hands over Geralt’s chest, feeling his straining muscles, the beat of his heart. He reached his fingers down to the fastenings of Geralt’s pants, fumbling to release the waistband. He began to slip them over Geralt’s hips, searching for—

Geralt pushed him away suddenly, stepping back with unsteady feet. Jaskier slipped down the tree with a thud, gasping for air.

“Geralt?” he managed, forcing himself to stand. “Geralt what’s—?”

“I have to—”

Anger swelled within Jaskier’s gut. “If you say find Roach one more time, Geralt then I’ll bash in my own skull with my lute.” He widened his eyes to show that he was indeed very serious. Again? With the fucking horse? Did Geralt think he was a complete idiot?

Geralt turned and stormed away, white hair knotted from Jaskier’s fingertips. Jaskier collapsed back against the trunk, breathless.

That man was going to kill him, no doubt about it, one way another, be it sword or by monster, Jaskier was going to die. He could see his tombstone now:

“ _Here lies Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove - died on account of Geralt of Rivea, who denied him several glorious orgasms.”_

On second thoughts, perhaps a bard’s epitaph would do just fine.

* * *

Jaskier’s lips against his. Jaskier’s body pressed against him. The songs Geralt could draw from Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier.

Geralt sat at the back of the bar, in his usual spot, and was watching his bard with wolf-like integrity. How was he supposed to focus on anything with Jaskier’s pretty mouth singing live to anyone who’d stop to listen. His lips had been so soft, his skin softer still. Geralt couldn’t stand to watch him entertain the guests around the tavern and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Jaskier bowed, grinning wickedly as he winked at a young man seated by the door. Geralt clenched his fingers around his tankard. He hunched his shoulders, giving him the impression of a miserly old man. Jaskier sauntered over to where he sat and to his surprise, instead of taking the seat opposite, he threw himself across Geralt’s lap.

Geralt flinched, breathing in sharply. Jaskier wrapped an arm around Geralt’s shoulder.

“And how was tonight’s performance?” Jaskier drawled, Geralt did his best to seem nonchalant. He shrugged.

“Same as ever,” he said gruffly.

“Insanely good?” Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes.

“Painful.”

Jaskier pouted. “You’re just saying that,” he whined.

He nuzzled into Geralt’s neck, his breath warm against his skin. Geralt tensed like a rabbit in headlights, an incredibly muscular, fearsome rabbit.

“Relax,” Jaskier chuckled, “I’m actually surprised you haven’t pushed me off yet.” Geralt frowned at that. Why hadn’t he pushed him off? It was odd but…he almost enjoyed the feeling. With Jaskier on his lap, he could protect him, see him at all times. There would be no ridiculousness from Jaskier this night, excluding the obvious of course. Geralt felt the tension leave his body and he slipped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, clearly so that he didn’t strain himself of course.

Jaskier beamed to himself and Geralt couldn’t help but return his grin.

“You boys up for something tonight?” a busty young maid rustled up to the table, her smile as suggestive as her curves.

“Sorry but he’s taken,” Jaskier said before Geralt could reply, “unless you’d be interested in something between the three of us that is.”

Geralt flinched and Jaskier forced a shaky laugh. “I’m uh, I’m joking of course. I’m sure he’d rather have a bath tonight instead.” He clapped Geralt heartily on the back.

The woman shrugged and turned away. “Suit yourself,” she said, making sure to sway her hips as she left.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take her up on her offer,” Jaskier said, watching her go, “you look like you could’ve used it.”

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow with a low whistle.

“Get off my lap Jaskier,” Geralt ordered. Jaskier shrugged, hopping onto his feet.

“I was right about the bath though wasn’t I?” he asked.

Geralt scowled.

“Ahah! See? Now, where would you be without a man like me?” Jaskier asked, beaming.

“Probably somewhere much nicer than here.”

“I know you didn’t mean that,” Jaskier clapped him on the back once again, “I’ll order the bath, you do,” he waved his hand about lazily, “whatever Witchers do to unwind whilst I’m gone, and that does not mean fucking that barmaid.” He made a gesture to mean ‘eyes on you’ and whirled away with a flourish.

Geralt watched him go, trying to frown instead of smile.

“So, you’re taken huh?” Jaskier allowed warm water from the pitcher to run over Geralt’s back. Geralt grunted, eyes narrowed in a scowl.

“Come on Geralt,” Jaskier leant over the side of the bath, placing the pitcher on the floor beside him, “you didn’t have a problem with being taken before, hmm?”

Geralt didn’t dare look at Jaskier, his cheeks felt warm.

“Geralt you could give me a slight answer. A hmm will do?” Geralt just stared at him, his expression deadpan. Jaskier sighed. “Alright then,” he said, squeezing the dirt from Geralt’s hair. He grimaced. “When was the last time you had a bath?”

Geralt tilted his head slightly to the side.

“Ah, yeah, yeah,” Jaskier shook his head, hands on his hips, “I’m pretty sure the looks you were getting weren’t just because of the leather pants. You smell.”

“You’re not much better yourself.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Should’ve joined you.” His grin was devilish and Geralt rolled his eyes, anything to prevent his answering smile.

“Why did you decide to become a bard?”

In all their travels, after all the time they’d ever spent together, Geralt had never stopped to ask. Jaskier blinked, his blue eyes shining in the low candlelight.

“I…uh, I don’t know,” he smiled brightly but his eyes did not reflect his enthusiasm, “I suppose it just sort of…happened.” He looked down, focusing on a sodden rag which he used to brush away the dirt clinging to Geralt’s bicep.

“Jaskier,” Geralt fixed his eyes on Jaskier’s features, “I’ve seen you try to get yourself out of enough situations to know you’re shit at lying.”

Jaskier shrugged, smiling sadly. “I suppose you right.”

“I want to know.” Geralt tried to make his gaze appear earnest but truth be told he wouldn’t be sure if it was effective even if he had a mirror.

Jaskier’s smile softened. “It’s really not that interesting Geralt,” Jaskier said. Then, quieter, “It’s only me.”

“I’d like to hear it.” Geralt wasn’t especially good at providing comfort with his words but he did want to hear what Jaskier had to say, he wouldn’t have asked otherwise, and he was genuinely interested. He placed his hand gently atop Jaskier’s, hoping that he could at least show him what he was attempting to say.

Jaskier sniffed, smiling as he turned over his hand so that his fingers were interlocking with Geralt’s. Geralt almost flinched away but he forced himself to keep his hand there, Jaskier nodding with eyes wide. Geralt was starting to realise that perhaps Jaskier saw him as more than just a travelling companion after all.

“Alright,” Jaskier licked his lips, staring down at their clasped hands, “look, I really don’t think—”

“Jaskier, for once I am actually asking you to talk dammit!” Water sloshed over the side and splattered Jaskier’s doublet.

“Well,” he chuckled nervously, “you have a point.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt added, feeling suddenly guilty, “but I’d like to hear it.”

Jaskier nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah ok then.” He licked his lips again.

“I grew up noble.” Jaskier kept his eyes fixed on Geralt’s hand. “It’s uh, it’s how I know so much about court. You’d think I lived in luxury but everything I did was set out for me like an established trade route on a newly drawn map. My father would tell me who to be cruel to, who to be seen being kind to – it was altogether draining to be ashamed of both my heritage and myself. Believe it or not, but I was gifted at school, at a few things, philosophy being one and I, well, I discovered that I had rather a knack for music. Singing specifically.”

“Philosophy?” Geralt raised an eyebrow when Jaskier nodded.

“Geralt I may know how to make appropriate decisions but that doesn’t mean I will.” Geralt shrugged. Jaskier sighed and continued.

“The songs I wrote were freeing. I could summon a thousand conflicting thoughts and emotions, confining them to a simple line or sometimes verse. I could say what I wanted, and I could talk to who I wanted. It wasn’t difficult to choose my course of action.”

“You left.”

“That I did.” Jaskier slapped his knees, standing to his feet. “See? Not interesting. Boring old bard, that’s me.”

Geralt smiled. “Irritating, yes. Boring,” he looked into Jaskier’s eyes, “not so much.”

They stayed like that for a while; staring at one another.

“Right, well,” Jaskier said, “I’d best be off, song to finish. I’ve been working on it for a while now, you know what they say: art never sleeps.”

“No one says that.”

“They do now.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier moved to exit the room but he knocked over the pitcher he’d left on the floor, the contents flooding over his pants.

“Fuck.” He pulled at the ruined fabric with two fingers. “I liked those breeches.”

“They looked like a bad hallucination.” Jaskier didn’t look impressed. “Besides,” Geralt added, “They’re barely wet.”

“Ah!” said Jaskier, shrugging out of his doublet and throwing onto the bed nearby, “but that’ll change somewhat after this:”

He pushed himself up and over the edge of the bathtub, ignoring Geralt’s protests, and slid down into the water opposite the Witcher, almost fully clothed.

Geralt’s expression was one of utter resignation. “You should’ve worn the doublet too,” he said drily.

Jaskier shrugged, lounging against the side. “I can still find something the colours will work with.”

Geralt doubted that he would. He rolled his eyes but even Jaskier could tell that he was amused. The room dissolved into a comfortable silence.

“I should’ve undressed,” Jaskier said eventually.

“Mmm, perhaps.”

“Oh?”

“Hmm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to you guys who've been commenting, it really means an awful lot. 
> 
> I know it's a short fic but I thought that if it were any longer it'd be drawn out too much. As always, let me know what you thought.
> 
> I'm thinking of writing a slight AU but I'm new to fanfiction so I'm not sure what you guys like to read. Let me know if you'd be interested.
> 
> Thank you!


	6. The Way I Felt For So Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the final instalment. I kept rewriting sections but finally settled on, well, you'll see.

Jaskier stared up at the building before them. It was inviting, really it was, only something about it sparked an involuntary horror within the bard.

“I’m pretty sure it’s haunted,” he said, clutching the strap of his lute.

“It’s not haunted.”

“Eh, well…” Jaskier sniffed, “no, no, I’m pretty sure it is.”

Geralt’s sideways glance was less than impressed.

“Look, Geralt, why don’t we go somewhere else, a nice tavern in perhaps?”

“It’s a brothel Jaskier. It’s the last place that might have vengeful spirits.” Geralt began to advance towards the door.

“Ah!” exclaimed Jaskier, whirling round to face Geralt, “but what about the angry spouses of the unfaithful?”

“What about them?”

Jaskier stared. “The…they might’ve killed someone!”

“Be thankful it wasn’t you.”

Jaskier sighed. He certainly did not wish to visit a whorehouse which, was something he never really thought he’d say.

Geralt had been giving him the most confusing of signals. One minute he was snogging him against a tree, and the next he was tensing up at the slightest touch. Jaskier wasn’t sure how to act. He didn’t want to push Geralt into doing something he was uncomfortable with but at the same time…who was he kidding? He hadn’t the foggiest as to what Geralt might be comfortable with.

And there was the other thing; the wish he’d made. Even if it’d come true, was anything Geralt shared with him real? Was it just a djinn, tying them together in a knot? He prayed that Geralt at least had some sense of free will in the matter.

Everything aside, a whorehouse wasn’t something Jaskier was in the mood for. What he was in the mood for, well, Geralt didn’t seem to be an option.

“Geralt,” he said, his voice wavering, “I’d uh, I’d rather not do this today.” He swallowed. “Can’t we just…can’t we just spend time, you know, together? For once? Without the monsters and the running and the patrons and the shitty tavern rooms. I’d rather just be, well, be with you.” Jaskier stared at Geralt, holding his breath whilst he searched for an answer. Geralt only stared at him, and for the longest time, said nothing.

“You know what? Forget all that,” Jaskier blurted, “this is fine, should be fun.” He forced a smile. Geralt didn’t say another word. “Right,” Jaskier said, “right, yes, good.”

He started to walk towards the door, but a hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back again.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his uncertainty evident.

“We’ll set up camp in the woods,” Geralt said.

“In the, in the woods?” Jaskier was a little taken aback.

Geralt’s lips quirked into a small smile. “You said you’d had enough of shitty taverns.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as the realisation dawned upon him. “The ground isn’t much better,” he retorted with an answering grin of relief.

“It’s that or the whorehouse. Take your pick,” Geralt’s eyes glinted in the dark.

Jaskier pretended to think, his heart beginning to pick up speed. “The ground,” he decided, then, throwing up his arms and spinning round in a full circle, “nature!” he exclaimed, “who doesn’t love nature? The dirt and the spiders and the twigs in your hair, truly beautiful.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, walking back towards where he’d secured Roach. Jaskier watched him go, his expression thoughtful. Geralt seemed very much in control of himself and Jaskier, Jaskier dared to hope that perhaps his wish hadn’t come true after all.

*

They sat by the fire, opposite one another. It was cold and Jaskier rubbed his palms together for more warmth. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his legs were pressed tightly together.

Geralt had been surprisingly talkative. Talkative being a loose term. Jaskier had rambled on about anything and absolutely everything and Geralt had listened intently with the occasional grunt of agreement albeit contention. He hadn’t told him to shut up even once.

“The child surprise,” Jaskier was saying, “one day you’ll have to meet them.” He waved his hand in the air, mirroring the movement of smoke from the fire. “Destiny and all that.” He smiled, gazing earnestly at Geralt. “When you do,” he said, “I’ll be there too. I’ll help you out. I’ll silence it’s crying and sing it to sleep with heart-warming lullabies.”

“I think that’ll make it scream more,” Geralt said gruffly, not without kindness.

“Shush you,” Jaskier dismissed with a wave, “no but really Geralt,” he promised, “you won’t have to face it alone, and, and I know you, I know it scares you – don’t give me that look – but I’ll be there with you, just as you’ve been there for me.” He stood to his feet, walking over to sit beside Geralt.

“That’s a fire hazard,” Geralt said, nodding to the blanket as Jaskier took his seat. Jaskier shrugged.

“You’ll protect me,” he yawned. He scooted closer to Geralt, leaning his head upon Geralt’s shoulder. Despite a slight flinch, Geralt didn’t move to push him away.

“I won’t have to if you put it away,” he said.

Jaskier huddled closer to him. “I’d be too cold.”

Silently, Geralt slipped his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, tugging him closer still. He pressed his lips to Jaskier’s hair. “Hmm,” he murmured, “you are cold.”

Jaskier looked up into Geralt’s eyes, stroking a finger over his stubble. Gods, he was beautiful as orange light danced over his silver hair. Geralt looked down at him, something flickering deep inside his amber eyes. He leant forwards, breath warm against Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier’s heart raced, threatening to burst from his chest. He felt dizzy, warm all over, legs tingling. Geralt hesitated just before their lips met but Jaskier wasn’t about to give up that easily. He lurched up, pressing his chest against Geralt’s. Geralt’s eyes were wide as Jaskier’s fluttered shut, sinking into the tenderness of their kiss. Geralt wrapped his arm around the back of Jaskier’s head, pushing him down against the ground. He slipped his tongue between Jaskier’s lips, allowing his weight to press against him softly.

Jaskier sighed, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck. He felt at home, safe. Gods, he didn’t even need a roof over his head. His back arched as Geralt slipped off his doublet. All he needed, all he needed was…Geralt. He didn’t need luxury, he didn’t need cured meats and vintage wines, all he needed was his music, and the man he loved.

Loved. There was no denying it, no turning back. He loved Geralt, so much that his heart might just burst.

Geralt rocked against him and between gasps, Jaskier let slip what Geralt wasn’t supposed to ever know. Not yet at least.

“I love you,” Jaskier breathed, “I love you.”

Geralt paused, staring down into Jaskier’s suddenly terrified blue eyes. He rolled away from him, standing shakily to his feet. He was paler than usual, his hair ruffled and expression ever so afraid. Jaskier felt his heart slip between his fingers, shattering over the earth below.

He was supposed to think it. He wasn’t supposed to actually tell him. Jaskier began to tremble.

“Geralt—”

“I should go…” Geralt stared at the ground, “I need some time to think, Jaskier. Alone.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Geralt, please, I shouldn’t have—”

“You should sleep.”

Geralt turned away from Jaskier, walking away from his confession with wobbling steps. Jaskier’s vision blurred and when he blinked his cheeks were wet.

Thus, the evening continued.

* * *

For a while, there was a barrier between them. Jaskier woke up, eyes red-rimmed and Geralt was already packed, rearing to go. After that, things went back to normal. Only they didn’t.

Geralt would steal kisses when he could. He’d press him against walls, against trees. Jaskier would melt into each one, transfixed by a distant dream. Geralt chose to ignore the fact that there were plenty of brothels nearby.

And still, those unspoken words between them. _I love you._

Jaskier would never dare speak them again, except for in his songs, but somehow, he still hoped that Geralt would say them too. A part of him wished that Geralt wouldn’t ever say them. At least then he would know that his wish was only partly true.

He felt guilt twist his insides, but as long as Geralt was initiating their kisses, Jaskier could cling to the hope that Geralt wanted Jaskier half as much as Jaskier wanted him.

Eventually, Jaskier couldn’t stand it any longer. It was the not knowing whether Geralt truly cared for him or if he was only using him as a physical pursuit, a means to an end. The time would come to ask about the wish, but first, first Jaskier needed to know how Geralt really felt.

They’d booked one room and Jaskier sat nervously in the bed, his legs bouncing in agitated restlessness. Geralt grunted as he exited the washroom, glaring as he hit the top of his head against the low hanging doorframe. In any other circumstances, Jaskier would have guffawed.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, evidently anticipating a reaction to his blunder.

“Something wrong?” he asked, seeming uncertain. If Jaskier knew him well enough, and he did by now, Geralt probably had no idea how to react if Jaskier were to say yes.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. Geralt tensed immediately.

“Uh…what?” he asked. Jaskier frowned at him. He never had been good at comforting with words.

Jaskier stood to his feet, squaring his shoulders. He sucked in a deep breath. “This has to stop,” he said. Geralt blinked. “Us,” he clarified.

Geralt’s face was stony. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely raised above a whisper.

“You and I,” Jaskier gestured between them in frustration, “your lips on mine, I’m not having it.”

Geralt’s question was choked. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Jaskier scoffed, “You shove me against a wall, you kiss me in a tavern bar, you hold me down against the mattress.” He threw up his hands. “Yet the moment,” tears began to well in Jaskier’s blue eyes, “the moment I reveal myself to you, the moment I tell you how much you mean to me,” Jaskier’s lower lip trembled and he pressed his eyes shut, sniffing raggedly, “the moment I tell you I love you, you leave.” He reopened his eyes, shaking his head. “It happens every time, again and again, and I’m done. I am done pretending that it doesn’t hurt me. I’m done pretending that I don’t love you, Geralt, because I do.”

Jaskier breathed heavily, his anger trampling his heartbreak. His shoulders sagged. “I love you Geralt of Rivia and if you can’t accept that, then all of this has to end.”

Geralt was staring at a broken version of the bard he’d met at a bar. Geralt had done this. He’d done this to Jaskier. He took a step forwards.

“I can’t tell you that I care for you Jaskier.” Jaskier nodded, biting on his lip. He had to be strong. He couldn’t allow Geralt to see how much it hurt to hear him say that. That wasn’t what this was about. Jaskier didn’t want to give the wrong impression as to why he was so upset. “I can’t tell you Jaskier, but I can show you.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt. “Show me?” he asked. Geralt nodded, cupping Jaskier’s cheeks between his palms.

“The first time you said it,” Geralt said, “I panicked, I couldn’t allow you to fall for someone like me.”

“What do you—”

“Shh.” Geralt brushed a thumb over Jaskier’s cheek, “I’m not good with words.”

Jaskier smiled, sniffing. “Really?” he asked, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I can show you.”

Jaskier seemed lost in thought, to begin with, but eventually, he nodded. “Show me then,” he whispered.

Geralt pressed his lips against Jaskier’s as gently as he could. It was even softer than the time by the fire. He smoothed his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, using his other arm to wrap around his waist. He kissed Jaskier’s cheeks, his temples, his fluttering eyelids. He pressed his lips against Jaskier’s neck, catching him as Jaskier’s knees grew weak. He gently laid him over the bed, placing a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s forehead.

Jaskier smiled.

“I’m not good with words,” Geralt repeated.

“You’ll get there,” Jaskier assured, “I’m certain of it.”

Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier’s neck, his hands moving to the fastenings of Jaskier’s breeches. Jaskier’s own hand flew down to stop him, his smile falling.

“Stop.”

Geralt pulled back, his face ashen. Jaskier stared at him, confliction darting about his features.

“I…” Jaskier looked to the door, “I have to go,” he said. He didn’t look back as he picked up his lute, walking towards the exit.

Geralt watched him go, his face unreadable.

* * *

Having talked for longer than he probably ever had before, it was only fitting that Geralt was back to his usual, silent self. Unfortunately, Jaskier was mirroring his actions. They entered a small town on the outskirts of Oxenfurt, hoping for a place to repair the kinks to Geralt’s armour, courtesy of his last job.

All was well until three heavily armoured men began to bar their path rather menacingly.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, edging closer, “they don’t look particularly pleased to see us.”

“Thank you for your insight.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to—hkk!”

Geralt spun around at Jaskier’s strangled yelp, only to find Jaskier held in place with a sword to his throat.

“Fuck,” Geralt swore.

The three men ahead of them approached with a saunter to their steps. The middle of the three barked a laugh at the sight of Jaskier’s terrified glances.

“He’s a pretty little thing, your bard,” the man taunted. Geralt growled. “Tell you what,” the man continued, “you do as you’re told, and he’ll continue to look that way. If not, well…” the man shrugged, drawing his finger in a line across his throat. Geralt got the hint.

“What do you want?” he grunted, Jaskier firmly in his peripheral vision.

“There’s a beast,” the man said, “down by the river. You fetch us it’s head, your bard gets to keep his.”

“Geralt?”

“Shut up Jaskier.”

Geralt nodded thoughtfully. He could easily kill the four men, but he’d run the risk of losing Jaskier. His stomach felt sick. At this point, he was fairly certain there was no denying his affections for the bard, even if he couldn’t voice them. Lose Jaskier? The thought made him want to run.

“Alright,” he said, “you have a deal.”

 _“What?”_ Jaskier was ignored.

“Oh, I’m glad that little boy told me you were coming,” the man said, “seems like this was worth the hassle after all.” He motioned for his friend to remove the sword from Jaskier’s neck who of course gasped dramatically.

“If I come back,” Geralt warned, taking a menacing step towards the leader of the posse, “to find a single scratch, to find him harmed in any way—”

“Yes, yes, we’ve heard the tales, Witcher. Though you’d best be certain you hold up your end of the bargain. Unlike everybody else, your bard's songs only scare my eardrums.”

“Hey!” Jaskier retorted. Geralt nodded.

“The river?” he asked.

“I’ll take you there, but I'm not waiting around.” He nodded to his men. “You there, take him inside the tavern. Keep an eye on him until I get back, ‘case he does something funny.”

Jaskier clutched his lute to his chest protectively. “You’d be surprised,” he threatened, “I’m handy with a knife, just you try to gut me.”

“Please don’t,” Geralt sighed. Jaskier was shoved towards the building next to them, muttering obscenities as he went.

“Odd one, your bard,” the man said as he escorted Geralt to where his monster was supposed to dwell.

Geralt shrugged. “He has his moments.”

*

When Geralt returned, he was covered in blood. He made a woman faint as he threw the head of the beast on the table before him. He was sick of people screaming when they saw him.

He asked after Jaskier, and when he was pointed to a room upstairs, he stalked up to find him. His employers had been a little intimidated by the sight of him, which yes, although he would rather people weren’t afraid of him, it did make Geralt smile.

He flung open the door to find Jaskier mid-song. Jaskier looked up, seeming tired. “Took you long enough,” he muttered.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

Jaskier strummed absently on his lute.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Do I look sure?”

“No.”

Silence.

“Jaskier…” Geralt looked at his toes, “did _I_ hurt you?”

“What?”

“The other night,” Geralt clarified, “did I hurt you?”

Jaskier paused his strumming, placing the lute down on the floor beside him. “Oh,” he said, “no. No, you didn’t.”

“Then what’s wrong—”

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier sighed, seeming twice his age. “What’s wrong is that none of this is real. Whatever this is between us, it isn’t real Geralt.” Jaskier looked so very tired.

“I told you last night—”

“That’s not the point!” He jumped to his feet but after a while plonked back down again, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not the point.”

“Jaskier, whatever they did to you—”

“They didn’t do anything! Will you just listen to me? For once in your life, just fucking listen!” Jaskier was on his feet again, fists clenched at his sides. Geralt didn’t open his mouth to breathe, let alone speak. “I betrayed you Geralt. I’ve been selfish and unkind, and I…I haven’t been honest with you either. If, by the end of this you no longer want me around then,” he paused, swallowing, “then I’ll understand.”

“Jaskier, you’re not making any sense.”

“I wished for this!” Jaskier threw his arms behind his head. “I wished for this. With the djinn, with the witch. She asked me for my last wish. I gave it to her,” his voice cracked, “I wished to be with you. For you to love me just as much as I love you.” A tear streaked down Jaskier’s cheek; he brushed it away angrily.

Geralt blinked. So that was what Yennefer had meant. Gods he’d been an idiot. Yennefer was partly to blame, of course. She should’ve told him.

“I’m sorry Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “so sorry.”

Geralt was dragged back to his senses. He shook his head. “No,” he said.

Jaskier stared up at him, anguished. “No?”

Geralt nodded.

“I’ll just, just get my things then.” Jaskier made to stand but Geralt placed a hand upon his shoulder. He pulled up his sleeve, exposing three scars on his wrist.

“That wasn’t your wish,” Geralt said, “the djinn was tied to me, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, mouth open as he stared at the scars. “You mean,” he licked his lips, “you mean…all this time? You…”

Geralt nodded. He pressed their lips together, tenderly brushing their noses. “I…”

Geralt swallowed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His fingers tightened around Jaskier’s shoulders. He was a wither. He wasn’t meant to feel and yet, with Jaskier, he’d never been so alive. Jaskier helped him to see the world in such a way that it was not a dark place but a place of hope. Jaskier helped him to feel relaxed even when he couldn’t be. Jaskier made Geralt want to keep living and reminded him that people were worth saving, no matter what they thought of him. For a Witcher, such feelings were far from normal. Deep down, Geralt understood that this was as close as he’d ever feel to what others knew to be love.

“I think, I know…” Geralt sighed, “I love you Jaskier.”

Jaskier stared at him.

“I thought you said—”

Geralt nodded, swallowing his apprehension. “I’m not good with words,” he said, “but you deserve to know what I’ve been trying to say for a long time.”

Jaskier’s look of surprise broke into a grin, and he pulled Geralt down on top of him, stealing another deep kiss. “And what did you wish for?” he asked playfully.

Geralt kissed him once again. “Not this,” he said.

To anyone else, they might’ve been hurt by Geralt’s declaration but for Jaskier, it was all he’d needed to hear. Geralt began to slip off Jaskier’s doublet, unbuttoning his shirt and running his fingers over Jaskier’s skin, burying his lips against the crook of his neck. Jaskier shuddered beneath him, his breeches feeling as tight as Geralt’s did. Geralt slipped out of his own shirt, holding Jaskier between his muscular arms.

“Hold on,” Jaskier gasped between kisses, just as Geralt slipped his hands below his waistline. “Hold on, ah fuck, Geralt,” he pushed him away gently, Geralt groaned in protest, nipping at the lobe of Jaskier’s ear.

“You smell,” Jaskier said, “and you’re still covered in blood.” Ah. That he was. Geralt pressed another kiss against Jaskier’s lips, moving down to kiss his chest, his stomach, strong hands moving down his sides. Jaskier groaned, arching his back. “Geralt,” he croaked, “Geralt take a bath first.”

Geralt paused. He began to undo his leather pants, tossing them in a pile in the corner.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, clambering over Jaskier to steal another kiss. Jaskier moaned as Geralt slipped off his breeches, pushing against him with his muscular body. Jaskier gasped as Geralt sank his teeth into the skin of his collarbone, kissing him gently across his chest.

“Take a bath first,” Jaskier managed, whimpering, gripping Geralt’s shoulders tight enough to leave a mark.

“Only if you join me,” Geralt grinned. Jaskier’s answering smile was the most wonderful thing in the world.

*

In the morning, the innkeeper found that the floorboards were sopping, and the bathtub was empty. He’d wondered why the Witcher and his bard had looked so sheepish upon their departure. The bard had even offered to play a song for free but the Witcher had hastily taken his hand, leading him out into the world beyond.

The innkeeper hadn’t seen, but the Witcher had helped the bard up onto his horse, an arm wrapped around his waist as they left town.

The Witcher didn’t allow anyone to ride his horse but then again, his bard had never been just anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I thoroughly enjoyed the whole process, but especially reading your comments. I really hope you enjoyed it and be sure to let me know if you did. 
> 
> Thanks again and I wish you luck with whatever's happening in your life. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, the tension of a slowish build. Toss a comment to your writer? Tell me what you thought and I hope you enjoyed reading just as much as I enjoyed writing it :)
> 
> (And I know I've stated that updates are every Wednesday but I was dying to post the first chapter.)


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